


Inside His Head

by SinnamonSpider



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s07e06 Slash Fiction, Leviathan!Dean - Freeform, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Missing Scene, Non-Explicit, Sibling Incest, Tumblr Prompt, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 01:30:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10934178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinnamonSpider/pseuds/SinnamonSpider
Summary: The Leviathan wearing Dean gives Sam a little insight into the inner workings of Dean's mind.





	Inside His Head

**Author's Note:**

> My response to the May Wincest Writing Challenge on Tumblr. Prompt was leviathan!Dean. This is a missing scene from Season's 7's episode 'Slash Fiction", with the latter portion of the fic echoing the events of the episode. Feedback is always welcome.
> 
> ...I hate the title but I couldn't think of anything better. This is what happens when I have to think up my own title instead of stealing it from song lyrics. Bleh. 
> 
> Standard disclaimers apply. All quoted episode dialogue does not belong to me.

Sam stares up at the creature wearing his brother’s body. “You gonna kill me or is this some sort of play with your food bull?” he demands, tired of the thing’s snarky attitude. Which, oddly enough, is pretty much a dead ringer for Dean’s snarky attitude. 

Sam believes in giving credit where credit is due. Even to monsters masquerading as his brother. 

Not out loud, though.

Not-Dean settles himself fully on the table. His legs swing back and forth, like a little kid on a swing-set. He’s got Dean down pat. “I could certainly play a little, if you’d like,” he offers. He taps his temple, smiling knowingly. “I’ve got it all up here, y’know. Every last thought, every little inkling that has ever crossed Dean’s mind.” He smirks. “And it sure ain’t Mensa meetings in here, but boy is it ever  _ juicy _ .”

Sam’s heart skips a beat at the thought, before he has time to reign it in, and then he’s cursing himself for a traitor. He has no right to Dean’s private thoughts, and if the roles were reversed, there were definitely things he would never  _ ever  _ want Dean to know. 

Come to think of it, the roles very well could be being reversed right now. Sam knows that there’s sure to be another Leviathan tormenting Dean while wearing Sam’s body, threatening to spill all of Sam’s dirty little secrets. He prays to whoever is out there that Dean respects his boundaries just as he’s currently respecting the hell out of Dean’s.

He can’t help it, however, when the creature takes in the conflicting emotions crossing his face and keeps talking. 

“Let’s see,” he says thoughtfully. “Well, there’s a buttload of guilt, about a dozen plus things. Stupid stuff, mostly, but then guilt is a waste of an emotion anyways, don’t know why you humans bother with it. Then there’s a healthy helping of shame, a smattering of remorse. Angst, angst, and more angst. A disgustingly wholesome and adoring shrine around Mom, and - ooh, all  _ kinds  _ of turmoil about Dad, that’s fascinating.” He scratches his head idly, watching Sam. “What else have we got? Regret and pain about Papa Castiel, of course. Regret and pain about Lisa and Ben, boring. And oh, what’s this?” 

He extends a hand to stroke Sam’s head and Sam jerks away from the touch. “Well, well, well,” he gloats. “There’s a big old heart-shaped box labelled Sammy. Shall we look inside?”

Suddenly Sam doesn’t think he can stand to hear another word. “Shut the fuck up,” he says heatedly. Not-Dean just beams at him. 

“Let’s look inside. Oh my. Well, there’s an awful lot of you in here in general, Sam. Your face is basically painted all over the walls and your name is echoing around like Muzak in a grocery store. It’s sickening, really. But this is different. This stuff isn’t out in the open, this is all locked away.” He makes a false thoughtful face. “I wonder why? Oh, maybe because of all the dirty,  _ dirty  _ lust it’s dripping with.”

Sam’s heart feels like it’s ground to a halt.

“Naughty, naughty Dean! This is just plain wrong. He doesn’t just love you the normal brotherly way, Sam. He’s  _ in love _ with you. Has been for - oh, well, I don’t want to say how long because then we’re getting into underage things and that’s just distasteful. But basically, forever. He’s been whackin’ it to your face behind his eyelids for years.”

Sam is having trouble breathing.

“Seriously, it’s like straight-up gay porn in here, 24-7. Gay incestuous porn, which is not socially acceptable even in these modern times. Even with Lisa, with every woman he’s ever been with - and there are plenty, trust me - he’s imagined being with you instead. Really, it’d be touching if it wasn’t all so revolting.” 

Not-Dean leans in close, close enough that his breath tickles Sam’s face and Sam wants to recoil in disgust, but the disguise is letter-perfect and the conversation has made those bottomless green eyes darken with the lust that is apparently lurking beneath the surface and Sam is finding it impossible to pull away.

Then those plush lips are on his own and the feeling is just so _good_ , so close to how Sam has been imagining it for just as long as Dean has, if not longer. Sam forgets everything and kisses back with all he’s got, until the horror comes rushing in and he jerks away, feeling sick.

Not-Dean just grins down at him. “All right.” He swings off the table and walks around it. “All right,” he singsongs. “You know, I guess that’s why Dean never told you that he killed Amy.

He looks over at Sam, hungry for a reaction. The expression, the movement; it’s all so familiar that Sam is having trouble remembering that it isn’t actually Dean. But then the creature’s words hit home and Sam snaps his head up. Not-Dean’s brows quirk, his face rapt. “There it is,” he exults, and even a cruel grin is beautiful on Dean’s features. “The look on your face. That is priceless!” He bangs a triumphant fist on the table. “ _ That’s _ what I’ve been waiting for.”

Sam’s mind is reeling from being slapped in the face with Dean’s secrets. He barely registers the Leviathan’s next words. “Now I can eat you.” He circles around the table on Sam’s left, chuckling darkly, until he’s right behind Sam, watching their reflections in the two-way mirror. “‘Cause, y’see,” he says, leaning in close over Sam’s shoulder, “I like my meat a little bitter.” 

Suddenly the door slams open and Dean - the actual Dean - bursts in, armed with an axe and a bottle of something that looks like industrial cleaner. Sam and Not-Dean both jump to attention and as Dean sloshes the contents of the jug at the Leviathan, Sam shields his face and turns away. 

Whatever’s in the bottle burns the creature like sulphuric acid and as it writhes and screams, Dean takes the head off with a powerful swing of the axe. “Well, that felt good,” Dean pants, as the sheriff comes around the table to free Sam from the cuffs. 

Dean and the officer continue speaking, but Sam isn’t listening. He can’t keep his eyes off Dean, torn between the revelation of Dean’s true feelings for him, and the horror of finding out that Dean had murdered Amy - basically in cold blood.

Dean addresses him directly and his words filter through the sound of blood rushing in his ears. “C’mon, let’s get a mop.” He sets off, but when he realizes that Sam isn’t following, he turns back. “Sammy? You okay?”

Sam stares at him. This is not the time or place. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says; it’s weak and Dean doesn’t buy it, but they doesn’t have time to question it further. “Let’s go,” he urges and heads out the door. 

Sam stays rooted at the table for a minute more before following his brother, stepping over the decapitated body of his brother. 


End file.
